


A Masquerade of Errors

by autumnroses



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Comedy of Errors, F/M, Gen, Mystery, Romantic Comedy, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnroses/pseuds/autumnroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Mary are bored one night and Sherlock was his usual charming self. Maybe a girlfriend would keep him happily occupied while they dote on their new-born daughter. The couple starts to plan a party they will never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"So, you agree then. You agree this is a good idea." Mary passed the bowl of chips to her husband. It was a boring Monday night, and they were having a ridiculously dull evening. The telly is blaring out the news. Mary rocked the baby back and forth in her arms.

"No, I do  _not agree_. I  _do not_ think it's a good idea. When is putting a hidden camera on our landlady's flat a good idea?" John took a handful of crisps and shove it into his mouth, cursing himself the next second the heavenly salt and preservatives dissolved in his tongue.  _That's an additional 4 hours on the bicycle run now._

"I just find her rather shifty. Didn't you agree she was shifty?" Mary kissed her daughter's forehead.

"Yes, bu--" John was about to answer when his phone registered a message.

"Is that him."

"Yes. Oh, yes."

"How many now?"

"Thirty."

"Still on about his missing cigarettes, is it?"

"Eyuuuuup."

**I can't find it, John. -SH**

Another message came before John could even finish rolling his eyes.

**Mrs. Hudson is screaming at me. -SH**

And another.

**The couch is on fire. -SH**

John sighed. "Oh my god, Sherlock. Just a week without a case. A  _week._ "he wrung his hands over the phone, imagining a lump of pale neck he can squeeze into. "Ugh, I'm calling him."

"Come dear, don’t be cross." Mary soothed. "Besides, he rather likes it when you get riled up. It must be some form of John withdrawals." Mary chuckled heartily. "John withdrawals.. Sounds a bit like  _toilet_  humor to me." she wagged her brows, pleased with her own joke.

John gave his wife a dead stare. "It isn't funny when you're the one bombarded with his ridiculous texts 24/7. I can't believe I'm saying this, but he's more bearable in person!"

Another message.

**There is brain matter on the living room floor. And blood. All because you hid my cigarettes, John. Give me back my cigarettes. - SH**

"Bloody hell. Parenting is supposed to be difficult _after_ 14 years with a child. Why do I get the feeling I'm dealing with a 5-year-old primadonna?"

Mary laughed, placing their sleeping daughter on her cot. "He should really get a case. Or a girlfriend."

"He should." John rolled his eyes. "Except my soul will burn in hell if I curse any poor woman with Sherlock's company."

"Come on now. He's not dastardly repugnant. Janine liked him."

"Janine told the papers he's got the clap." 

"..Ohh."

**I found them -SH**

Mary thought for a second, sitting down beside John on the couch. "What about Molly?"

 **No. These are tar sticks. Bloody Hell. -SH**  
  
"Molly? Molly Hooper?" John furrowed his brows.

"Yes! She's rather cute and shockingly intelligent, can you believe that? I've been talking to her more after she.. Well.. After.."

"She slapped the ever leaving shit out of Sherlock's face?"

Mary shrugged in mock despair. "Goodness.. it's like he's just begging for it, isn't he?"

"Believe me, Molly Hooper deserves a monument for taking this long to slap Sherlock Holmes."

The couple laughed.

"But you know," Mary smiled. "I think Sherlock might actually.."

John frowned, was supposed to disagree, then remembered Christmas three years ago. He remembered the first time he has  _ever_ heard Sherlock genuinely ask for forgiveness. And it was to Molly. He remembered hearing Molly Hooper's name on Sherlock's list of confidantes about his fake death. He remembered the slap between the two of them,  _really_  remembered. Mary and John's eyes talked. A realization was forming. Mary looked sure, and John began to believe it. After all, Mrs. Watson was rarely wrong about people.

"Weeell... I suppose there is a sliver of," John waved his hand, " _something._ And it was obvious Molly fancied him before." John thought after a pause. "But isn't she supposed to be over him? Almost getting married and all that."

"Do you really believe that?" Mary giggled.

"Not one bit." They laughed again.

"So!" Mary bit her lip, her eyes sparkled and her mouth formed into a cheeky smile that John, as her husband loved and hated at the same time.

John stared at her. “Mary? Are you really thinking about…" he whined with disapproval. "Mary, no! No.. That’s not—”

"Ethical?"

"Yes! It's not ethical! And I don't think it's--"

"Don't think it's going to work?"

"Definitely not! Definitely--"

**I think your chair fell off the window, John. Sorry. - SH**

 John gritted his teeth.

"Let's do it."

One can almost assume he was smiling.

 

 

 

 


	2. In need of a Mask

"Boring." Sherlock's voice drawled as John discussed with him the nuances of the party.

"Sherlock, I haven't even started yet."

"Yes, you did. You said 'Sherlock, Mary and I are planning a party' to which I replied in kind and hopefully, you heard correctly." Sherlock looked up from his petri dish of experimental human mucus. "Or would you like me to repeat that?"

"Is that snot?" John grimaced.

"I am in the process of finding the differences between human mucus in the downtown area, and in the countryside. Yes, it is snot, John. I really did miss you pointing out obvious things around the house. There's the burnt couch. There's the skull. Sadly, my cigarettes are still yet to be pointed to."

"Sherlock, for the hundredth time, I did  _not_ take your smokes."

"Liar." Sherlock went back to his samples and poked at them with a gloved finger.

_"Oh my God, he really is bored."_ John thought in horror, his mouth agape. Sherlock, the world's greatest detective, is swirling his finger into boogies. Nose gunk. He tried to ignore the pressing question of _how_ Sherlock even harvested this particular specimen.

"John, your mouth is open." Sherlock said without looking up.

It seemed more like a warning than a statement, and John shook the stupor off his face. "Right, yes. The party."

"Boring."

"Will you please," John smiled, painfully. "It's a diaper party. For Anna. Remember her? Your godchild?"

There was a huge interminent pause.

"Y---ess." Sherlock answered slowly.

"Please don't tell me you forgot that Mary and I have a child now."

"Very well, I shall not tell. In my defense, I don't offer chilbirth in my list of skills."

John wrung his hands in the air as Sherlock set fire on one of the petri dishes with a torch.

" _Diaper party."_ Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And people call _me_ strange. Might as well throw a party about any old thing. Slipper party. Hat party. Beard party. I'm quite sure Anderson would attend that last bit, the sorry state he is in."

"You can't _not_ come, alright? You're the godfather of my child. You have to be there. All you have to do is show up, walk around and try not to insult people."

"Has nobody pointed out to Anderson that beards aren't supposed to have bald spots? He looks like he has some form of illness with it on his face. He _might,_ actually. That's unfortunate."

_"Sherlock."_ John stressed.

"This is a very trying process, John." Sherlock answered. "And I don't understand why I have to be best man in your wedding _and_ god father of your child in the same year. It seems awfully rude to ask so much of someone."

_And he calls me rude. That's rich._ John gritted his teeth. He's getting used to it the gritting-smiling action of his jaw now.

"Can't I just kill another criminal mastermind for you, instead?" Sherlock sniggered.

_Oh. That  wasa joke._ John thought. _That bloody thing was a Sherlock joke._ He tried to get his mind to focus. "No, Sherlock. What I need you to do right now is attend the party.."

"Godfather.. Hm, godfather. The term itself is so contrived." he was talking to himself now. "Who in their right mind would want to be a _god_ father? And what do they even do to the child that constitutes a higher power of siring? Goodness knows I had _anything_ to do with the child's conception."

"Probably stop talking now, Sherlock."

"Yes." he said. He opened the fridge and placed a stock of petri dishes inside. "Is this party going to be long?"

"It will be in the afternoon for the kids, and there will be a masquerade ball for the adults in the evening."

"Two parties in  _one day?_ "It was Sherlock's turn to look shocked.  _  
_

"Well, if you could just hear me out without diving further into boogerville, I could probably tell you it's the anniversary of Mary and I's first meeting."

"Two parties within 24 hours." Sherlock repeated, still horrified. "And nothing happening in between. Not even a murder."

John sighed. "Yes. Not even a murder, Sherlock. I'm sorry."

"Is this what you people call _'fun'_?" Sherlock said testily. "Diaper Parties? Anniversaries? I am at a loss. What in the world is the point of celebrating meeting someone you see everyday anyway? Don't answer that. I don't want to know."

Sherlock strode down the couch and flung himself to it's length. He curled up int a fetal position and remained quiet. John scratched his head. The "Sherlock Holmes' Talk to Me Today Office" is closing its blinds and packing for the day.

"So will you come?"

Sherlock didn't answer. John was about to leave when he heard Sherlock say "Fine" in a rather whiny voice.

"You need a mask for the masquerade, Sherlock." John called out before leaving 221B. "Preferably something that will make you unrecognizable to people."

John stepped out of the flat. "Heh, good luck with that."

* * *

 Mary was waiting by the cafe next door, her eyes shining as John appeared through the glass door. John kissed Mary and little Anna, gugrling on his wife's lap. He sat across the table with a sigh.

"So, is he coming?" Mary asked.

"Yes, yes, he's coming." John said. "But I'm starting to think this is a bad idea."

"Why? Did he throw a fit?"

John nodded. "Mary, we are inviting Sherlock Holmes to a party. Two parties, in fact. _In one day._  We're asking Sherlock Holmes to stand still and be nice to people out of the goodness of his heart. It's bad an idea as it can get." he smirked. "How did your end go?"

Mary feed Anna a careful scoop of sweetened pancake and wiped the infant's mouth. "Oh Molly? She was excited to come. She says she has never been to a masquerade party before. But she has to check her schedule."

"Oh great. At least  _someone_ is happy about this." John took the menu off the table and flipped through.  _Banana split. Fish and Chips. Strawberry Pancake. DIET._ John closed the menu with a snap.

"I'm planning on taking her shopping, actually." Mary reflected. "She's a pretty girl. But her wardrobe choices are criminal."

"Is this part of the plan? Wait. _What is_ the plan, Mary? May I just ask?" John's brow shot up. "Molly would be easy, sure, but Sherlock? He can't even follow the photographer's instructions on our wedding."

"Taking that that the photographer was the Mayfly, I'd say that's a good thing." Mary smirked.

"So spill your plan then." John said. "I want to hear it."

Anna reached for the spoon on the table and Mary took it from her gingerly. "No, honey.  _Well.._ The plan! I don't want to ruin it yet. I will give you the details later. But I'm pretty sure it's going to work. I've got it all figured out."

"You have _no_ idea, do you?"

"...Not a sniff."

John laughed incredously. "Did I just invite Sherlock to an imaginary party to set him up with a woman who _has to check her schedule_?"

"Oh come off it. Molly will come. I just have to namedrop Sherlock and everyone else. That girl dotes on us. Sherlock doesn't even  _have_ to be there. Besides, we _can_ do a real one."

"A real party? We're doing a real party now? It's all coming together, isn't it? A diaper-slash-masquerade party." John and Mary paused to let that sink in.

"Did I hear you say masquerade party?!" A cheerful voice called from behind them. John and Mary both turned their heads. Mrs. Hudson was striding towards them in big joyful smiles.

"Oh..." John's face was a picture of a man in a toilet, caught by a camera in mid-push. Mary chortled and tried to hide her fascination.

Mrs. Hudson kissed Mary and Anna and gave John a hug. "It's been quite a while since you dropped by, the both of you. I am so pleased!"

Mary grinned. "You know how it is with kids, Mrs. Hudson. Busy busy!"

Mr's Hudson smiled. "Oh yes, kids. I wanted children once, when I was your age. But my husband said it would ruin my figure. I was dancing every night, after all.  My figure was part of my investments. Wouldn't dream of kids, my husband. Some nights he would tell me "Martha, you have the best rump in all of No--"

" _Riiight."_ John nodded agreeably. "Children are the best."

"You're holding a masquerade party, I heard?" Mrs. Hudson said gleefully. "That is so delightful. I don't know if I ever told you this, but I met my first sweetheart in a masquerade. It was a short and sweet romance. Only lasted one night, though. Isn't it mysterious?"

John and Mary stared at each other. If they were alone, Mary wouldn't have stopped herself from laughing at the faces they were making. They were both grinning, helplessly, with a tired expression on their eyes. A feeling of doom loomed through them and it clearly said:  _something is going wrong._

"So when's the party? I would love to come!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.

 


	3. Molly's Makeover

"We have--" John counted, "Twenty-two guests confirmed for Saturday. Six still in RSVP."

"Not bad for a fake party." Mary smiled.

"How did it come to this? Just.  _How?_ Are people bored this time of year? Nothing on the telly, is it?" _  
_

Mary laughed. "We got Mrs. Hudson to thank for that. Ohh, message!" Mary pointed at John's phone. It has been chiming all afternoon. Sleeping Anna was being carried by her father through baby carrier.

**I invited my wife along. She's bringing the kids for afternoon.**   
**Sally and Philip may come around as well, along with two new officers dying to meet Sherlock. - Lestrade**

John stared at his wife. "Lestrade's wife is coming. And they're bringing kids."

"Oh! Wonderful!" Mary said, genuinely pleased. This distressed John greatly.

**Seems Sherlock's sex escapade made him a whole new brand of superstar - Lestrade**

"May I remind you that this party does not exist?" John tutted.

"Well, we hardly have a choice now, do we?" Mary hummed, making food lists and finalizing the guests in a pad of yellow sheet.

"You're  _actually_ planning the hors d'oeuvres!" John peeked over his wife's shoulders.

"Well... yes!" Mary said indignantly.

**Is it true he's into grandma porn? - Lestrade**

"Take off the crudites."

"Alright. Anything you like?"

"Chicken fingers. Or Crab puffs. Beef Canapes.  _What am I saying?"_ John reeled in horror. "We  _aren't_ supposed to be holding a party!"

"We are now!"

Anna struggled in her father's arms. She stretched out a yawn, her face in the brink of crying from her disturbed sleep.

"Oh no. No, darling!" John hushed. "Did Daddy wake you? I'm sorry. Shh.. Go back to sleep."

Anna obediently nodded her head. John began to talk in soft cooing sounds while he patted his daughter's leg.

"John Watson, Baby Whisperer." Mary teased. "Canapes champion with a vengeance. Give me Chicken fingers or give me death!"

"Shut up, wife." he rolled his eyes, hiding an amused smile.

"So, I think everyone is excited for the masquerade ball." Mary looked at the colorful pieces of paper in the table. "Basically, we can make do with a simple food party for the kids. Cake and ice cream, no problem.. And then, we make a big splash in the evening! Most people attending are adults, anyway."

"I wonder why." John shook his head as he remembered Mrs. Hudson's eager face.

"I don't even know most of them, to be honest. Perfect for a masquerade. And oh look, Mrs. Hudson invited one of your exes."

"What?"

"Sorry,  _three_." she laughed. "Sarah, Millie and Jeanette."

"Oh my lord. Mrs. Hudson! What was she thinking?" John tried to control his voice. "And Molly, is  _Molly_ even coming? You have to remember we're doing this to get Sherlock off his rocker. " he said. 

"Uhm." Mary tried to interfere, but her husband is on a roll.

"It's been two weeks without a case. He's going completely mental!" John sighed. "A week before, he was setting fire to boogers and texting me all day about the color changes."

A little bit of chortle escaped Mary. "Sorry." she said when John made a face.

"This morning he texted me about the cataloged differences between Lonesdale and Panatella ash."

"The man loves his ash." Mary nodded thoughtfully.

"And now--" John sighed.

**Golden Gate. Military Guacamoles. Da Vinci is on fire. - SH**

"He's texting me completely in code speak." John massaged his forehead. "He just called me a twat for not texting back."

Mary let out a full-blown laughter, her cheeks puffed and red. Anna's limbs wobbled in her sleep and Mary was forced to stifle her laughter into a giggle.

"So  _please,_ please tell me Molly is coming?" John said. "She's known Sherlock for years, and she hasn't ran away. She must be very resilient. Or desensitized. Whatever it is, I'll take it."

"Oh, she's definitely coming. I managed to convince her." Mary smiled conspiratorialy. "And! we're going shopping tomorrow! A little girl time for Saturday's party. She's sleeping over too, afterwards."

"Oh yeah?" John looked up. His wife is wearing her "I might be doing something evil" face.

"Yeah." 

 

* * *

 

"Mary?" Molly bit her lip as the garments on her arms started to pile high. "Mary, don't you think this is quite a lot of clothes?"

Mary was wholly preoccupied with rummaging through the department store's racks. "Hm? No! Of course not." She said, placing an additional handful.

"Uhm." Molly picked a piece of red silk panties from the pile. It had "Sexy Devil" printed on the front.

Mary stared. "Oh. Sorry. That's for Joh-- _For me_." She smiled, flinging the fabric away. "But you know, you could really do with some sexy underwear! Let's get you some!" Mary hurried to the lingerie.

"What?" Molly asked, her eyes wide with surprise. "But.. Wait! I've always thought. Well." She laughed uncomfortably. "Isn't sexy underwear for treating men? Like eyecandy. I hardly think I need that for the party."

"Oh, darling!" Mary smiled widely. "Sexy underwear is so much more than that!"

"It is?"

"Yes! It's like ah.. uhm. An ace in your hand!"

"An ace?"

"You wear it and you feel relaxed. Powerful. In control." Mary said forcefully. "Whatever your partners' deals are, you will always have the ace, and you don't have to shy away."

"Ohh." Molly's eyes brightened. "I didn't see it like that."

"Good, right?" _And I just pulled that out of my arse!_ Mary thought triumphantly. 

 Molly took one of the dresses in a nearby rack. It was made of turtleneck white lace with a high waist line and a balloon skirt. "This one's rather nice." she pointed.

"Oh!" Mary looked at the old thing. "Yes, I suppose it is."  _If you're going to church for vows of abstinence, yes._

"Maybe I can try it on!" Molly said.

"Yes. Oh  _no!"_ Mary looked at the tag. "Oh my goodness, it has velcro. Masquerade parties have a strictly no-velcro dress code."

Molly looked puzzled for a moment. She stared at Mary's serious face.

"Mary, are you pulling my leg?" she giggled.

"Yes, I am." Mary laughed back, genuinely this time, "Sorry, yes.. force of habit. It's actually really atrocious."

Molly looked back at the white dress. "Oh, it's not so bad."

"Molly! Look at me." Mary grabbed Molly by the shoulders. Molly stared at her with wide eyes.

"Have you ever kissed a girl?" She asked, the seriousness in her tone made Molly look in slight surprise.

"What?"

"You know? Like the song. Have you ever kissed a girl and liked it?"

Molly's eyebrows shot up. A silence passed between the two women.

Then they burst out in huge, teary laughter. It was one of those moments.

"What was  _that_ about?" Molly laughed, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Oh Mary, you are so random!"

The two women clung arm to arm through the store. "Well, if you must know. I  _have_ kissed girls before. Dozens. My last relationship before John was a salesgirl named Clara. It wasn't serious."

Molly blushed. "Mary, why are we even talking about this?"

"Molly, all I'm saying is you're beautiful." Mary said. "You are one of the kindest, sweetest, most adorable woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting."

Molly's face blushed a deeper red at the piling compliments.

"And if I wasn't married to John, I'd kiss you." Mary kissed Molly's forehead. "There. See? That's as far as I can go."

"Uhm." Molly smiled awkwardly. "Mary, do you have a point?"

"Yes, I do. I do!" Mary waved her hands. "I have a lot of points. First of all: Trust me when I say, you are a very desirable woman. And second, believe me when I say, I'm not just saying that."

"Okay." Molly answered, a bit unsure.

"And second of all, sometimes being adorable won't get you anywhere. Sometimes you need to bring in the fangs!" Mary clawed her hands in a tiger-stance "Like.. Rawr!"

Molly's face grew more awkward. She still smiled sweetly though, as if to politely agree.

 _Oh bloody hell._ Mary slumped.  _This is so hard!_

"So, are you trying to make me over for the masquerade?" Molly asked simply. "All this talk about being desirable and having fangs leads me to believe you do!" 

"W-well.." _Shit._ "Uh.. Nonsense! I just want you to look your best."

"Yes, all the clothes you picked for me are very flirtatious." Molly leafed through the pieces. She looked very amused as Mary mentally flailed on the spot. _What's going on! Not going according to plan! Molly's smart, but she wasn't supposed to be this smart!  
_

That was when it all clicked, wasn't it? Mary stopped and marveled at the woman in front of her. Molly Hooper's real strength is her power to see the truth in people, and to understand and accept. She might not be a skilled assassin like Mary, or a capable soldier like John.. Not even a genius like Sherlock. But she is, simply, Molly Hooper.

The sane one.

_And oh my god, if there's anybody Sherlock could be lucky to get.. Anybody who could accept him the way he is.._

"Molly? Can I share something really honest with you." Mary said, as if looking at the girl as a new person.  _This is beyond the party now. Beyond John and her.._

"Hm?" Molly brought up her eyes.

"Your taste in clothes suck."

 

 


	4. Icing, Ice-creams and Kidnappings

"They seem to enjoying themselves." John said, satisfied. Kids ran around the small garden behind the Watson's apartments. Colorful balloons and party hats are worn all around. The small number of adults sat in their respective chairs, content to watch the children play.

"Yes, I think it's a swell party. Not a traditional kind of diaper party, if I do say so." Mary said. Even Anna seem to be happy enough at the colors, sounds and smells around her. John carried her while she teethed, quiet and obedient like an angel.

"What  _is_ a traditional diaper party anyway?" John asked.

"Hm? Wasn't that some tosh you pulled out your arse to get Sherlock to come?"

John sniggered. "Diaper party. I still marvel how people believe that."

The couple smiled to themselves, still watching the kids.

"Where's Molly?" John asked suddenly.

"Molly is helping out giving ice-cream and cake to the kids. Supposed to be my job since I'm playing hostess, but she snagged the part up once she arrived." Mary said. " She's grown pretty popular with them, it seems."

John nodded.

"And Sherlock?" Mary asked this time.

"Sherlock is sitting over there." John pointed to the glum-faced detective, sitting on a children's chair that is far too small for him. He looked quite comical, with his knees up to his chest and his fingers to his temples, the same way he would look if he was in his mind palace. John almost thought he was in one of those states, except Sherlock's eyes flicked open when a kid had the bad idea of touching him. He let out a loud, disgruntled bark which drove the 8-year-old screaming.

"Ohh.." Mary shuddered. "He doesn't look too happy."

"His threshold is one kid per interaction." John shook his head. "He's probably at his limit."

Mary nudged John in the ribs. "Hey! Watch this." She grabbed a bucket of ice cream from the table and strode over to Sherlock. John watched. Mary talked to Sherlock for a bit, gave Sherlock the ice-cream and pointed to where Molly had a flock of children around her. Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up, ice cream in hand. He started for Molly's direction.

"Oh, you are good." John smirked as Mary walked back to their seat.

Mary waggled her eyebrows. "I didn't do anything. Molly needed help and Sherlock don't have kids of his own to watch. He's free to help."

"Uh-hm." John snickered. Anna let out a healthy burp.

 

* * *

 

"Molly." Sherlock said, his face still a picture of a man forced to consider tripe as daily nourishment.

"Oh, hello." Molly said, giving a quick glance over at him. She was busy, her ponytail had strands off the side. Beads of sweat clung to the edges of her forehead. It was uncanny not to see her in a long, white coat, Sherlock noticed. She did have a paper crown over her head, a childish drawing of diamonds and jewels littered the front. No doubt, a gift from one of the children

A kid asked for Chocolate chip and another wanted Mint, impatiently tugging at the hem of Molly's shirt.

"Hold on, you lot!" she laughed.

"I was told to assist you." Sherlock said.

Molly sighed in happy relief. "Oh That's lovely, lovely!" she said, wiping sweat off her brow. "Alright, so here are the flavors." She pointed to the buckets. There was mint, strawberry, chocolate chip, cookies and cream, vanilla and lemon.  "The cones are under the table. Don't give a child more that three scoops. They run around the place and most of the stuff ends up on the pavement. Just give a kid any flavor they like, but take care not to mix the mint with the lemon. It ends up tasting horrible."

"Right." Sherlock said, in full concentration.

"Mister, " a little girl looked up to Sherlock. "May I have Vanilla, please."

"Yes." Sherlock answered. He grabbed the scooper from the bucket, dragged it along the soft mound, and plopped the contents on the cone. He handed the shoddy ice cream to the child and wondered why she wouldn't take it.

The girl looked at the scoop with disappointment on her face. It only had one measly teaspoon of ice cream on top.

"Well?" Sherlock said, shaking the cone at her.

"I want more, please." the girl said politely.

Sherlock plopped three more sad teaspoons. "There. Not more than three scoops."

"But.." The girl started to protest.

Sherlock sighed. "Take it now, or I will tell your mum you hide her lipstick and eat them when you're cross with her. You've got one in your pocket right now and you've been nibbling at it all morning."

The girls eyes widened in confusion and horror. Her limited 5-year-old vocabulary didn't have the word "wanker" yet, so she did whatever she felt was right. She burst into tears and she ran to Molly, burying her face into Molly's shirt.

Sherlock stared at her disdainfully.

"Evie?" Molly knelt down. "What's wrong, love? Why are you crying?"

"The grumpy man.. So awful.." The girl pointed at Sherlock. "G-grumpy face.. Wouldn't give me ice cream... He has a scary face."

Sherlock nostrils flared at the kid. "Which is only more than I can say about  _yours_!" he said. "Lipstick eater!"

"Fish-face!" the kid cried petulantly.

"Divorced parents!"

"Skullman!"

"Unwanted pregnancy!"

The kid shouted. _"BOOGIE EATER!"_

"I do not eat them! They are for an _experiment!_ " Sherlock cried, offended.

"OH, STOP IT!" Molly shouted. Sherlock and the kid shut their mouths. Both of them glared at each other.

"Evie." Molly said, turning to the little girl. "It is not nice to call people names, right, love?"

"He started it!" Evie pouted.

"I did not!" Sherlock huffed.

Molly rolled her eyes. "Sherlock, will you please sit down in a corner and cool down for a second?"

Sherlock grumbled but he walked a little further off the tent and crossed his arms over his chest. Some kids snickered.

"Oh he's sent to the corner." They whispered. "Grumpy face is sent to the corner of shame."

"What are they talking about _"the corner of shame"_?" Sherlock cried. 

"Nothing, nothing." Molly sighed. "Don't tease him, kids, alright? Or I will be sad. Do you want Molly to be sad?"

They looked at each other quietly, and let out a guilty, collective chorus of "No".

"See? We can all get along! Right, Sherlock?" Molly said, brightly.

Sherlock waved his hand in dismissal.

"Who's up for free scoops?" Molly smiled.

The kids rejoiced at this and started to form a line around Molly again. Molly called Sherlock over.

"So I'm out of the "corner of shame", is it?" Sherlock grunted.

"Don't let the kids get to you, Sherlock." Molly laughed. "I know they can be quite the handful."

Sherlock grabbed the scooper again. "Yes, I know. I hated kids growing up. Still do, somewhat."

"Oh, same with me! I had my own share of teasing." Molly whispered nonchalantly. "I had large glasses growing up, and was very chubby. So they called me Roly-poly Molly." She laughed. "Hilarious now, but it was devastating before. Hand me a cone?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to comment on the weight gathering on Molly's hips but closed it again. Somehow, he decided it wasn't something she would appreciate. Although he was drugged out of his mind the last time Molly had slapped him, he knew that her slaps were surprisingly-- _Hm_ \-- Effective. It did not seem like a good idea to bring up her weight. He also thought that the lipids growing on her were comely, in fact. It was a healthy sign she was back to her normal eating habits after her engagement with Tim(?) Tony(?) Todd(?) went sour. She had lost quite some weight after that incident. Now that she has improved, she was more alert and cheerful. At Barts, they haven't talk much, but she was, as always, more than efficient. She looked well. Which was good.  _Good._ That is good. Not that it's good her engagement is over. But because she is eating again. Good.

"Sherlock?" Molly said. "The cone?"

"Yes." He fussed with the box carton to produce the wafer cone inside. Molly took it from him and served it to a kid next in line.

"This is trifling. I shouldn't be doing this." Sherlock said, for lack of anything else to say. "I am bored." 

"You can join John and Mary, if you want. I'll manage." Molly said.

Sherlock didn't answer. He just scraped the ice-cream with the scooper absently.

Molly looked at this and laughed. "Oh Sherlock, that's not how you do it." Molly said, realizing the problem. "You have to dig hard and press this button here." she said. "See? This is one scoop." she showed him how to place the ice cream on the cone.

"Oh." Sherlock said. "That was tedious. How was I suppposed to know it does that?"

"Uhm.." Molly replied. "Normal people just kind of do."

"Hm." Sherlock agreed. 

With his new found knowledge, Sherlock stood up straighter behind the kiosk and looked around for kids to serve ice-cream with. "Well, come on. Where are the children? I can do this swimmingly."

He saw them running up to Molly asking for scoops, but most of them shrank away from his stare.

"Hey, you!" he called to a kid with glasses, lined up near Molly. "Yes, you! The kid pretending to have myopia so he can sit near the teacher and stare at her bosom. Do you want ice cream?"

The kid's face turned bright red. He shook his head furiously, making his glasses fall off his face.

"Kids are idiots." Sherlock clicked his tongue. Nevertheless, he was kind of affronted that the children chose to line up with Molly, but not with him.

"Don't be mean." Molly hissed in a good-natured way.

"You're the man on the papers" a little kid's voice said.  Molly and Sherlock looked up. A bright, but sullen-faced boy stared up at them. "The detective in Daddy's papers. Is that true? That you're a _real_ detective."

"Yes. I am a detective. Ice cream?"

"Mint, thanks."

"Hm." Sherlock scrapped at the ice cream away, plopped it proudly on the cone and handed it to the kid. It was a perfect scoop, if Sherlock did say so himself. The little boy stared up at him as he sucked on the sweets. His eyes were unblinking. He did'nt seem to want to leave the line, which is fortunate because there was no one on Sherlock's side of the kiosk.

"What is it?" Sherlock snapped. "You can only have three scoops."

"You're a detective." the boy said again.

"Yes, to reiterate."

"You a good 'un?"

"Very good."

The boy looked up at Sherlock, the ice-cream entirely forgotten. "Then bring my sister back." he whispered.


	5. An Evening of Strangers

"Sherlock, are you sure about this?" Molly whispered as she walked arm in arm with the man. The evening of the masquerade was held in full romp, thanks to Mary's indubitable talent to persuade people. This time, it was an event organizer that lived in the flat above Mary and John. Mary gave him a huge tip, a shower of praise and the fear of the ever-living god into his soul.

"Keep calm." Sherlock instructed. They walked around for a bit, observing the guests bearing unknown faces as they walked by.

"What are we suppose to look for anyway?" Molly said. The details of the case were still unclear to her. All she knew was that Sherlock and Henry, the little boy from yesterday afternoon's party, discussed it under pretense of playing rock-paper-scissors. Afterwards, Sherlock asked for her assistance to the case (grumpily, in fact, because Sherlock lost to the kid 10-7).

"A sign." Sherlock said vaguely. "Before that happens, we have to stay calm. Be normal. Mingle."

Molly giggled. "Well, I thought I'd never hear the day you would say a word like 'mingle'."

Sherlock smirked proudly. "And why not? "Mingle" is an English word with Dutch and German origins. I am fluent in both. If we add my knowledge of French and Russian then--"

"Shh." Molly prompted.

John and Mary were dressed in simple evening wear, their hands linked. They were walking towards Molly and Sherlock with smiles all around.

"Sherlock! You're still here! I thought you'd had run out of steam by now." Mary joked. She had a colombina on, a half-faced mask, elegantly studded with faux diamonds and lace. Her nose and her cheeky grin peeked out underneath.

"Yes. Well, I had reason enough to attend." Sherlock replied.

"Nice mask." John snickered. "It suits you a lot."

"Thank you, John." Sherlock said, no effort in his voice to hide the sarcasm. "I'm sure you would approve of this, since you gave it to me."

"Oh, did I?" John replied, obviously enjoying the moment. "Yes, I think so. You should wear it more often."

Sherlock grumbled something behind the mouthless Bauta mask.

"Oh, sorry, you have to speak louder. I can't hear you under that."

"I said, 'Have a  _wonderful_ evening'." Sherlock said acidly.

"I should've given you that mask sooner. It would've saved me hours of sleep." John grinned. 

Sherlock was about to bark back a retort to John's cheekiness, but a heavy pinch echoed just under his tenth rib. Sherlock's eyes widened under the eye holes.

"Did you just _pinch_ me?" Sherlock whispered increduously to Molly. Molly ignored him.

"Molly, darling!" Mary said as the two women kissed on the cheek. "You are  _gorgeous._ You are so beautiful."

"Thank you! As you are, Lady Watson." Molly said graciously. "I guess you really did makeover me after all."

"Oh, it was my pleasure, love. You deserve to look your best. Careful with your date, Sherlock. I've noticed the men of the party giving her longing looks. If you don't pay attention, someone might just whisk her away."

Molly blushed. "It's all thanks to your stylist friend, Mary. I don't think this look suits me at all. I've tripped on my heels three times now--"

"Seven." Sherlock interjected. "OW. Did you just pinch me  _again?"_

"I don't know most people here." Molly replied brightly. "I think I see someone I know but everyone's wearing masks, I can't really tell."

"That is so true." Mary chatted. "Also, that stylist wasn't my friend."

"But the huge discount--"

"Well, enjoy yourselves, you two!" Mary said, giving Molly a quick hug. "We're just going to check on the other guests."

"See you, Sherlock." John patted Sherlock's shoulder.

As they walked away from the dysfunctional couple, Mary couldn't help giggling like a child. "Did you see that? Did you see? They actually took each other as dates! That ice-cream thing probably worked better than I thought. Oh, it made my night  _so_ much easier."

John laughed along with her. "They're behaving like a real couple too. Oh my god."

John and Mary walked away and Molly glanced at their retreating backs.

"Those two are setting us up, aren't they?" 

"Yup." Sherlock agreed. "Obvious from the get-go. John rented me a suit, bought my mask and gave me flowers. For who? I do not know. Most people they invited are strangers. Strangers in a masked party, how odd. This would lead me to believe that they want us to gravitate towards someone we are familiar with. Except this is not John's type of party, nor Mary's. They held this party on whim. Also, if I backtrack through John's journal and his blog, the anniversary of meeting does not hold. The real anniversary would have to be around July, as that is the month he started his clinic."

Molly stared up to Sherlock under her own colombina. "Uhm.. Sorry, I didn't catch any of that."

Sherlock made a grumbling noise.

"Still can't."

"NEVERMIND." Sherlock yelled. "Anyway, it all fit together when you arrived in that attire. It screams of Mary's sophisticated taste and not your usual peculiar fashion sense."

" _Peculiar?_ " Molly stressed. "So, that's it then. Everyone thinks I am this odd dresser!"

"N---o." Sherlock said slowly, choosing his words well. "Not odd. Just... bizarre."

Molly stared at the blank mask that was Sherlock's face.

"..Sometimes." it added with a hint of uncertainty.

Molly shook her head and they started to walk awkwardly through the crowd of people. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"In any case, you _do_ look good in that." He said genially. And she did. She wore a cream-colored evening dress with a low back and a modest neckline. Pearls and rhinestones gathered in a flower pattern on her hip, but still kept with the dress' streamlined and simple effect. Not showy, but not shabby either. Her hair was done quite elegantly as well, and her makeup was neither loud nor minimal.

"I guess it should." Molly replied. "These heels alone are killing me. If I don't look even marginally better, might as well dress up in my fuzzy sweaters."

"With the loud, multi-colored patterns?"

"Yes, and that atrocious fuschia-and-black striped scarf!"

"Oh, I rather like that one." Sherlock said.

He stopped in vague apprehension. That last comment seemed like it slipped off his tongue too freely without thought. It felt rather odd.

 "So.. you sure that our kidnapper will be here tonight?" Molly looked around. Some people were dancing, some were off to the veranda. And quite others were lounging in the bar. The attendance turned up higher than initially expected, owing to the fact that Mrs Hudson advertised the party as a "singles mixer".

Mary and John were slow dancing along the simple 4-man orchestra company she hired on short notice. 

"Because I invited him to come." Sherlock said. He was ecstatic, no doubt. His voice, despite hidden behind the mask, had that unusual manic quality it gets whenever he's on a case.

"You _what_?" Molly said, her eyes widening. "How did you do that? And why? You mean, the suspect is in _this_ room?"

"Oh, yes, Molly." Sherlock said. "Isn't it _excellent_?"

Molly's frown deepened. "I--hardly think it is. At least let's inform John and Mary.." she said.

"Later. Not now. That would ruin everything." Sherlock hushed.

"Then what are  _we_ supposed to do?" Molly stood there, her arms linking tighter to Sherlock's. She was at a loss. It cut her in the middle; the excitement to be in on something grand as Sherlock's dangerous world, and that nagging feeling that she wouldn't be of any use. She wasn't a soldier or a figher. She was a doctor. In her lab, she can assist him, provide him with whatever medical and scientific data he would need. In her lab, she was strong and respected. She can hide in that piece of territory because she knew she owned it. She knew it like the back of her hand.

Here, what was she really? Just a woman wrapped in cosmetics and shimmery fabric. She wouldn't even be able to run away properly because of her dastardly heels.

"What am I supposed to do?" Molly asked, feeling a creeping tinge of insecurity.

"You can dance with me." Sherlock answered flatly.

Molly stood there stunned. "Oh. That. Erm. I thought you'd ask me to shoot a gun. Or take notes. Or spy on someone." she blubbered. "I think I'd rather prefer that, thanks." Molly said fitfully.

"Nonsense. You can't shoot a gun. Your have lousy aim. It's all those panel shows you keep watching till late at night. It ruins your vision." Sherlock dragged Molly to the middle of the room. She held out a fight, but with her heels linked to her toes, it was a lost cause.

"And I know you have that unhealthy obsession for David Mitchell." he said grimly.

 _"Sherlock."_ Molly hissed. "I am  _really_ not okay with this."

"You danced fine on John and Mary's wedding." Sherlock pointed out.

"Well, I wasn't wearing eight-inch monstrosities the size of a full-grown midget, was I?" she cried.

Sherlock pulled her firmly and held her hand into his. "Don't be a drag, Molly. If we walk around like two daft people in a party, we will stick out like a sore thumb. Besides, this is the best way to maintain audible conversation while acting natural."

"My feet aren't acting natural." Molly whined.

"Trust me." Sherlock said.

The simplicity of the words astounded her. Molly stared up at him, at the mask, and found the burning gray-blue eyes filled with that familiar resolve. She remembered the time that those eyes roused her in the morning for work, erasing any doubt in her chosen field. There was a time she wanted to catch up to him, to be the very best that she can be. To be brilliant, _brilliant_ like him. It seemed possible at that time. His eyes were like that. It said anything was possible.

 _If there's anyone who can do it, it's me._  

_Trust me._

Molly sighed. She did. She still does. 

So Molly and Sherlock danced, and while they did, he whispered to her his plan to the last intimate detail. He was ecstatic. He tried to convince Molly that this plan was fail-proof and solid. Molly agreed. As the music blared, he bowed close so she could hear. It was the mask, you see. She couldn't hear him with the mask on. Somehow, in that grueling moment, the great Sherlock Holmes forgot that he could take it off.

 


	6. Queen of the Night

"--and then she used tongue!" Lestrade said with enthusiasm. "I'm telling you, my friend, this masquerade is the most brilliant party I've _ever_  been to."

John cringed at the wealth of graphic information he was shared with. Although he liked friends opening up to each other as much as the next guy, Lestrade went completely off the scale of "gym locker talk" and now verging dangerously close to "porny considerations".

"I'm glad you're back together with your wife, then." he said politely. _It must be the drink talking_ , John thought. _We all get carried away._

"I know right? I never even knew it was her because of the mask. It's like a one-night stand. Strangers. It's hot." Lestrade said, giving his own mask a tap. "I think it's starting to be a fetish with us, too."

John cringed again.

"Well," the man downed his drink, "It was nice talking to you, Bobby! I see you getting cozy with the blonde bombshell over there!" the man pointed at Mary's direction.

 John's face crumpled with confusion, but before he could say anything, the masked man tapped him congenially on the shoulder and sauntered off. John's mouth hang on his jaw like a piece of suspended towels.

"Oi, who was that?"  _Lestrade_ walked up to John carrying their drinks. John stared at him, then stared back at the other man. He had disappeared like a bubble.

"Greg?" John asked incredulously.

"Uhh.. Yes?" Lestrade answered.

"You _are_ Greg Lestrade? Scotland Yard DIC, chronic female oogler, an addiction to divorcing one particular woman for the rest of your life and has a thing for spray tans?"

"Yes?"

"Bloody hell--" John scratched his head, "Did I just tolerate a stranger talking about his sex life thinking it was  _yours?"_

Greg shrugged. Then with sudden realization, he crossed his arms indignantly, "Hey! I do not have a thing for spray tans!"

"This masquerade is getting to me!" John shook his head, then taking a large gulp of scotch, savored the heat that travelled to his stomach. "And I'm not even half-drunk."

"Careful with that boyoo." Greg tutted. "You don't want a repeat of your drunk escapade with Sherlock. Lord knows I've reached my quota for busting _him_ out of jail. Besides," Lestrade snickered, "didn't bring my camera phone today."

"So you and your wife are still sour on each other?" John checked.

"Like acid. She left early, if I remember correctly."

"No hot, bathroom sex and the blossoming of love as if you were back on your highschool prom night?"

"Honestly, _man._ " Lestrade cringed.

"I'm sorry, I had to get that out of my system."

John and Lestrade clicked their glasses together and took a hard, stressful bottoms up.

"Husband." Mary touched John on the shoulder.

"You  _are_ Mary, are you?" John stared at her with joke suspicion. "Can't tell from your mask."

"Yes, I am Mary." she sighed impatiently. "Love of your life, mother of your child, and keeper of your antacids. Any other?"

 John smiled. "How did I ever get to score a blonde bombshell like you?"

Mary giggled and kissed John on the cheek. "Well, you're my type."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Get a room you two."

"Mortgage still on 5 years to pay, many thanks for reminding, Greg." Mary piped up, "But yes, I would say the mood around the place is getting quite sultry. I've seen a couple of darlings hit it off and go home for the night in pairs."

"Any luck on _our_ bets?" John raised an eyebrow.

"What bets?" Lestrade asked.

Mary scratched her head. "Well... no. Now that I think about it. I haven't seen them together." Mary said. "I lost sight of them after the fourth dance. Have Sherlock gone?"

John shook his head. "Oh nope. I can see Sherlock like a steamroller in a field of daisies."

He pointed at a tall stalwart figure weaving his way and that through the crowd. He wasn't really walking per se, he was _marching_. There was a definite pattern to his step, almost as if he was a guard on the lookout for a bomb. Sometimes he would stand stiff in the middle of the room, engrossed with texting on his mobile phone. An occassional woman would approach him, but they would leave soon after, their cheeks flushed with burning hatred.

"One of them even splashed her drink at his face." John rolled his eyes. "The mask is doing him service."

"Why doesn't he leave then?" Lestrade sighed. "Parties were never Sherlock's thing."

"He left early at the wedding." Mary added in slight distress.

There was silence for a while.

"And Molly?" John asked.

Mary pointed at the young woman talking animatedly at a couple of guests. "Popular as ever."

Lestrade looked at the girl closely. "Molly. Yes, Molly Hooper. She gained some weight, has she? her waist looks bigger and the shape of her bot--"

John and Mary gave Greg searching looks. Greg loosened his tie. He opened his mouth to say something but Mary held a hand up to stop him.

"Ah, ah. Whatever you say next will incriminate you even more, Detective Inspector. Let's leave it at that."

Lestrade fumbled with his glass. "F-fine." he whispered.

"Oogler." John ribbed Greg.

"Hey, just fond of appreciating the Lord's gifts."

"Appreciate your  _wife's_ gifts, then, why don't you?" Mary tutted.

"Lady," Greg narrowed his eyes under his mask. "Those gifts have been legally repudiated circa 2009."

The trio laughed and Lestrade's phone chimed with a message.

**I need to discuss something with you. - SH**

"Is that from Sherlock?" John asked.

"Well, yes." Lestrade sighed. "He has beckoned." He gulped the last of his drink and shrugged.

"Do you think he's onto a case?" Mary piqued. "That would explain the odd behaviour."

The three of them look up to see Sherlock marching around a dancing couple, pulling on the man's ears.

" _What_ odd behaviour?" Lestrade said flatly.

"Going to a party for one." John sighed in resignation.

Lestrade stood up. "Case or not, I should probably tear him away from that couple. He's got too many restricting orders on file, I can make an album."

"You're exaggerating." Mary said.

Lestrade paused for a few. He seemed to be counting in his head. "Not really, no."

John and Mary watched as Lestrade strode to where Sherlock was. The latter had his fingers clamped down on the man's ears now, and the poor stranger was howling in pain. The woman was hitting Sherlock with her handbag repeatedly.

"Charming, isn't he?" John rolled his eyes.

"So I guess the Molly-Sherlock setup is a bust then?" Mary shrugged.

"I guess it is." John said. "We got an interesting party out of it, at least." he said.

A message chimed in John's phone. He took it out, sure it was Sherlock explaining this stunt.

**The Jester in the deck of cards is a fool by any King's standard. - Unknown Number**

John stared at the message in shock.

"John?" Mary said, noticing the troubled look in John's face. "What happened?"

"Something's wrong." John said.

 

* * *

"Alright, alright, break it up!" Lestrade shouted, peeling the detective off the distraught stranger. "What happened here?" Lestrade turned to the man.

"We was just dancing," the man answered. His balding head glistened with sweat. "Then this loon just came over and started harrassing us. S'true!"

"I need to see his ears!" Sherlock cried, lunging for the man again.

"You've seen plenty by now, haven't you?" Lestrade cried.

Sherlock panted, taking the mask off his head. His face was red, defeated and angry. His eyes blazed with visible distress. Sherlock turned to the woman and she flinched under his stare.

"You!" he shouted. "Why are you wearing that necklace?" he said. Information burst in his head. Mistress. 42 years old, but claiming to be thirty-six. Three children, one still born. Gold-digger. Drinking problem. Fond of cats, but doesn't have one. Binge-eater.  Office worker in Cardiff. It all made sense to him.

Except for the necklace. The necklace. 

"Why are you wearing that necklace?" he asked again, taking a terrifying step toward the cowering woman.

"Sherlock, is there a point to this?" Lestrade went between Sherlock to stop him.

"Where's Molly?" he asked Lestrade.

"Molly?" Lestrade recoiled at the sudden change of topic. "She's over there." Lestrade pointed to her. Molly was frozen on the spot, wondering at the big ruckus Sherlock was making. Everyone has stopped the festivities at this point. All eyes were on Sherlock now, at the flabbergasted Molly and the interesting sequence of events unfolding in the party.

Sherlock turned his heel and walked towards her, talking animatedly without pause. "Molly, I know it isn't part of the plan to draw attention, but I think we missed something. He isn't here anymore. I don't think so. We have to regroup. Bring John, Mary and Scotland Yard on the case. The perp is still loose with the victim. I don't know if we can trace her anymore after tonight."

Molly stood there wordlessly. She wanted to speak. Her mouth opened in closed but no words came out.

"Molly, stop that." Sherlock glared at her. "It's very unbecoming. Tell me, why did you give the necklace to that woman? The plan was--"

Sherlock stopped. In his feverish resolve, he  _had_ missed something. His mind backtracked. The plan. The dance. The drinks of alcohol. Molly's arrival. John and Mary. His stomach tightened and a cold rush of sweat gleaned at the back of his head. A lump had formed in his throat, and it was his turn to blubber like a fish that lost air.

"You're not... _Molly._ "

She wasn't but she was wearing the same dress. The height, hair color and built were also a bit similar to Molly's.

She took her mask off. "M-my name's Regina. Please don't hurt me." she said. "I-I... I was kidnapped. He told me to... Stand here... Please."

Sherlock's face clenched in horror. His step fumbled.

"Regina Moore. Henry's missing older sister. Filed 'Missing' the last two weeks." He whispered.

Sherlock's head trembled with pain.

"EVERYONE TAKE THEIR MASKS OFF!" Sherlock screamed at the people in the party. "TAKE THEM OFF, NOW! Molly? Show yourself! _MOLLY!_ "

The world swam. Colors mixed and swirled in his vision. The masked strangers stood around him, taunting, laughing, jeering in his mind. Sherlock's knees gave way. He's had a couple of glasses of alcohol in him as well. He didn't drink too much, he didn't think. Yet, the world spinned and the carpet of red welcomed him like a soft bed.

Pocket. Ringing. A message.

John's voice snapped him back to reality. He felt John's strong arms grab his shoulders and heave him to the side. Lestrade and Mary followed. Sherlock's head throbbed. Too much chemicals in his blood. Too much emotion. He didn't like it. Too much chemicals mixing with alcohol; mixing with a screaming perplexity that throbbed and pounded in his brain.

"Sherlock. Sherlock look at me." John tapped Sherlock's face. 

A message. In his phone.

**I swap my queen for yours, Sherlock. A card trick. Hope you like magic. - Unknown Number**

 


	7. Snake's Venom

"Quiet!" Sherlock shouted at the room.

Mary, John and Mrs. Hudson stared at the bundled form of Sherlock Holmes. He hasn't moved a muscle, haven't any change in breathing or position. If they knew Sherlock any less, they would assume him to be talking in his sleep, travelling in his riotous dreamworld, where ever that took him. Unfortunately, they were well acquainted with his quirks.

"Oh, so you're awake then?" John replied sharply.

"Stop talking, the lot of you. Your thoughts are making me even more ill." He said.

"Sherlock, what happened to you at the party?" Mrs. Hudson prattled. "You got knocked out! And the guests all left so early. I haven't even had the chance to sample on the beef canapes. And now, there's talk of kidnaps and the police and oh, Molly.. Poor Molly--"

"If you don't mind, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock interrupted, "I am currently in the throes of a _terrific_ migraine, and l would be eternally grateful if I don't hear your voice tonight."

"But I--"

"Not a word."

"You were drugged, Sherlock." Mary stood over him, her hands crossed over her chest. "Pentobarbital from the looks of it. Dropped on your sherry."

"I knew alcohol was never a good choice of poison." Sherlock sat up from his chair. The room spun out of control, and he quickly shut his eyes. He opened it again. The wallpaper of 221B became a garbled frock of vomit brown. The low light suffused and added to his headache.

"Care to clue us in on this?" John said. Sherlock didn't answer. He continued to massage his temples with a grimace plastered on his pale face.

" _Anytime,_ Sherlock."

"Where's Lestrade?" Sherlock ignored him and John shook his head in annoyance.

"He's at Scotland Yard finishing up on the Regina Moore case. He should be in shortly." Mary answered.

"I need to have an audience with that girl." Sherlock said decidedly. "Extract from her the details of her abduction. This kidnapper is intimate, skilled, cheeky. But I am quite sure she has caught a glimpse of his features, or even his body type. His  _ear,_ most importantly. Also, the woman. The woman at the party. The one with the green necklace. I need her too. Guest list. Party. I need--"

"Sherlock!" John interrupted. "Tell us what's happening!"

"Do I _have_ to explain everything to you? Really? You do know it can get most tiring, hm?" Sherlock snapped. "I have been following this case for a while now. A series of kidnappings around the London area. Leads were slow and the time frame proved to be detrimental. This man, this suspect, he is known as "The Charmer". He beguiles rich, naive young women through online dating websites, possibly ones who are sheltered, with strict upbringing. Catholic school students and exchange students are his targets. He charms them, dates them, then abducts them for ransom. Funny you should mention pentobarbital, since that his favourite. He's like a snake. He strikes when you least expect him."

"If you know so much about his process, then why haven't you caught him?" John asked.

"Because I already  _have!"_ Sherlock said, then grimaced again when a sudden pain struck through his temples. "It was easy, at first. _'The Charmer'_ is Henry Peters. An australian con-artist. I've apprehended him. Sliced his left ear in the process. I imagine he still might be sore about that."

"You cut off his ear? That's horrible! Though if it is on the lobe itself I guess it wouldn't look too ghastly--" Mrs Hudson exclaimed.

"Shut up, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock warned.

"So how is he back if you've caught him?" Mary said.

"I don't _know_." Sherlock said with a spat. He was annoyed that he didn't know. It crawled on his veins and lingered with every passing throb in his head. He stood up and paced around the room. He wobbled a bit. He resisted the urge to snap at John again when he tried to offer his hand for support.

John and Mary shared a worried glance.

"That's why I wanted to check the man's left ear. I had to make sure it was him." he said, still pacing. Every step he took sent a  _bong_ of pain through his head. He savoured it. Physical pain usually makes him think clearer. He needed to concentrate. Something tugged at the back of his mind, distracting him from thinking about the case. His theories were in shambles. His head paced and shot in different places at once. He was having a hard time focusing.  _The drug. That must be it. What else can it be?_

"I didn't notice it was him at first." He paced furiously. "Completely changed his M.O., changed the targets. Went and took two girls before I caught a sniff. Stupid. _Stupid._  I should'nt have been so lax. If it wasn't for Henry Moore, I wouldnt be able to connect--"

"Sherlock, calm down." John said.

 _"I am calm!"_ Sherlock shouted. It felt like the scream was for him more than for John. It was a shout to quell the growing voices that lingered and distracted him.

Mrs. Hudson let out a little yelp. She quickly exited the room on cue.

John stared at Sherlock. The last time he acted like this was in Baskerville. Angry. Scared. Irrational. Well, more than usual, he surmised. John knew it might just be the cocktail of alcohol and barbiturates in his system but everyone in the room knew it must be something more.

"And I don't know what he wants." Sherlock began to pace again, talking to himself. He seemed to forget John and Mary's presence altogether. "He could be after money but why wasn't there any ransom note in his last victims? Of course, there wouldn't be any. He is targeting average women now. Not money. And no allusion to his presence. The only time he communicated was when _I_ took the case. Planning. It's obvious he is planning this. He's learned a few tricks."

"How do we stop him Sherlock?" John said, trying to grasp Sherlock's fleeting attention.

"Revenge." he said in a snap.

"Revenge?" John repeated.

"Why here. Why now. Leaving notes like this. Does he want to play? He waited. Up the stakes. Trying to catch my attention and springing up so suddenly at the opportunity of contact. The note is personalized. He knows my number. He knows John's number. But then again _everyone_ knows your number because of the blog."

"Sherlock." John grabbed Sherlock by the shoulder, steadying his pacing form. "Talk to us.  _Properly._ We need a plan to save Molly. We need to stop him."

Sherlock's face tightened. He didn't say anything but a sudden, undeniable stewing of corked animosity lingered in the flat.

"Leave me." he said after a while. "I need to think."

"Sherlock. This is not a normal case." John started, trying not to lose his patience. "We have to work together. Right now, there is a kidnapper, out there, with an apparent personal vendetta on you. Do you understand that? He is after _you_. And he has his hands on Molly --"

_"Leave."_

John stared hard into Sherlock's stone-cold face. He was his best friend, alright. But it didn't give him the right to be a complete and utter twat this time. Not this time. Especially when one of their closest friends was in danger. Right then and there, he wanted to punch Sherlock and his mask, to break him down, drag him out kicking and screaming. He wanted Sherlock to understand that it was normal in this circumstance to get worried and be scared; that he had people in his life that can help him now. The easier it is for him to accept that, the better. John's fist tightened.

But Mary touched his clenched hand and gave it a squeeze.

"John?" she looked him in the eye. She had a hard expression on her, but her eyes were soft and very telling. She tugged at him gently. John tried to resist. He searched her eyes for an answer but all she did was gesture for them to leave. John sighed. He let Mary lead the way out of the door and out of Sherlock's apartment. When he looked back, he saw Sherlock staring at them as they left. Then the door slammed shut.

"Why did we leave?" John asked. They stood in front of 221B, waiting on a taxi. "I mean why? He's being a child. This isn't the time to be difficult."

Mary held his hand. They were balled into fists again, but as always, the wife always had her magic. His grip loosened and he began to hold her hand tightly instead.

"Is it weird not being the kidnapped one for a change?" Mary joked. It was a morbid joke but John shook his head with a grim smile.

"Uncanny." he said.

"He'll pull through. I know he will." Mary hugged John's arm. "But right now, give him time to deal with this. I feel like he is quite inexperienced."

"What?" John asked. "This isn't the first time he's dealt with friends being in danger."

Mary shook her head. "When you and Sherlock tackle cases, he trusts you to put yourself in the firing range. It's true. It's almost a kind of synergy, a dependency. _Y_ _ou_ always risked your life on your own accord, and that was _your_ responsibility. And Sherlock, he always had your back. That was _his_. It's an unspoken and mutual agreement between you both."

John scoffed lightly, but he admitted it made sense. Sherlock, as difficult a man as he was, has always pulled through. He always manages to save everyone before things got too hairy.

"This time," Mary sighed, "It's different. We can safely conclude that Sherlock _asked_ Molly for help on the case. Her participation required her to risk her safety. Sherlock asked her to do that. But he always does, doesn't he? He always brings Molly into things. But you know Molly. She doesn't mind. She trusts Sherlock completely. Like you. Like Mrs. Hudson. Like me. We all trust in Sherlock. It seems he is that kind of man that inspires it."

John and Mary looked at each other and slowly, John began to realize what it was all about.

"I think he is blaming himself for Molly, John. He feels responsible. He might be trying to rationalize it all as part of the case, a plan gone wrong, but it's just ruining his systemic mind." Mary sighed.

"John, I think this may be the first time Sherlock is experiencing the burden of guilt."

 

* * *

 _"I warned you, Sherlock."_ the Mycroft in his mind said in a soft, susurrant voice _. "I warned you not to get too attached. Now, look at you. You're a mess."_

"Shut up." Sherlock whispered, pacing around the flat in a blaze. "I need to think!"

He scanned files in his head, London sites. Scenes. The victims. What might have transpired in the four hours that elapsed in the party? Where was the kidnapper staying now? His mind blurred. He couldn't think straight. It all looped back to Mycroft's voice.

_"This is what happens, do you see? Sentiment breaks you. Weakens your mind. Distracts you from the big picture."_

"SHUT. UP." he said. He hated his voice, hated the almost begging quality in its edges.

He tried again. Henry Moore's description of his sister's disappearance. Regina Moore. The party-- But everything began to break apart.

Sherlock held his head with both his hands. Painful. It goes beyond the drug now. Barbiturates. Depressants. Should have relaxed him, yet his heart is pounding in his chest and a dark, heavy feeling tugged in the recesses of his stomach. It was a peculiar thing. It felt like excitement, the kind of upturned feeling he gets when tackling a new case. But unlike that, _this_ wasn't pleasant. Huge ugly blobs of anguish decorated the innards of his hysteria. He felt poisoned. He was short on breath. Cold sweat clung in his nape. Was he terrified? Of what?  _Of what?_

_"---personal vendetta--"_

_"--he is after you--"_

_"--His hands on her--"_  

There was a mixture of physical and non-physical pain in his chest. He crumpled the shirt where his heart was. _A heart attack? No. Don't be absurd. But it's painful._  For lack of a better description, his heart felt like... _breaking._  What a pathetic, preposterous thought. But he realized that it carried the meaning more eloquently than any other word he could muster.

 _"Can't focus, can you? That's because you're letting yourself_ _'feel'. It's a disgusting habit."_

Sherlock clutched his chest numbly. Mycroft was right. He shouldn't let himself feel. It destroys him. It weakens him. Logic powers him. Alone protects him.

But the dropping of these words brought back the memory of John's voice. It started as a whisper, louder and louder until John's voice was clear as the day itself.

 _"No, Sherlock. Friends protect people."_ Time and again, this truth rang true.

Sherlock let out a calm breath. His heart rate decreased to normal, the lump in his throat unblocked. He was calm now, a new determination filled him to the brim.

 _"Ready now?"_ Mycroft pulled back.  _"Ready to solve the case? Ready to clear your mind of unhealthy distractions?"_

"No."

_"No?"_

"No." Sherlock said firmly. "If there is any distraction, it is you." he said. "I can focus. I can. But not on the case. On _her._  I need to focus on her.Saving Molly Hooper. _That's_ the big picture. If anything, I will be sharper because I absolutely must."

Mycroft didn't reply. His voice has left, albeit temporarily. 

"I will never let anything happen to her." he added, and his resolve grew stronger. 

Sherlock fished his phone to contact his  _real_ brother and Lestrade. John. Mary. His friends. Have they left? They couldn't have gone far.

As he chanced on his phone, there were new messages displayed on its screen, all from an unknown number. The sinking feeling enveloped Sherlock again. This time, though, he didn't allow it to phase him.

The game is on, and he has every reason in the world to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is adapted from the Sherlock Holmes story "The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax". I had to stop myself from typing too much. I got carried away in this chapter! Hehe.


End file.
